


Sea(r) of Lyte

by Mags



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/F, Humanstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mags/pseuds/Mags
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Vriska Serket, and storms seem to follow you whenever you sail through the Sea of Lyte.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea(r) of Lyte

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buttmaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttmaster/gifts).



> The prompt:  
> "I love the idea of a pirate captain Vriska and a sea witch (maybe tentacled) Rose having strife and tension. Did Vriska ask Rose for help? Did Rose capture Vriska's ship? The possibilities are possible!"
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I have gone sailing once (although I have seen most of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies) so any and all sailing-related information will probably be wrong. Yay!

The first time you sail through the Sea of Lyte, you are a very young child, escaping your warring homeland on a ship larger than any you’ve been on before.

You manage to slip away from your mother and escape from the murky interior onto the deck. Though it’s bustling with people, you’re able to slip away to a mostly unused section near the stern of the ship. You’re just tall enough that you can comfortably rest your chin on the railing, although when the ship lurches sideways the railing presses uncomfortably against your throat.

You spend a whole fifteen minutes watching the waves all the way out to the horizon before you grow bored of that. The sailors have started shouting to each other and swarming around the deck. At first, it’s not clear what they’re doing, but you soon see the pattern--they are tying down everything they can, pulling up the sails, and clearing the deck.

It’s gotten a fair bit darker, you notice. There are dark clouds gathering in front of the ship, and they seem to be closing in fast.

A sailor next to you curses. “Kid, you need to get off the deck. There’s a storm comin’, and it looks to be unnatural from the speed. You got parents on board?”

You ignore her, looking back out at the waves. They’ve gotten higher, and the ship has started to rock more significantly. Grabbing the railing and planting your feet, you strain your sight--is that a person out there?

“Kid, I ain’t gonna ask again,” the sailor says.

You can almost see her--a pale lady almost too far away to see, only her torso visible above the water. She beckons toward you.

The sailor makes an exasperated noise before scooping you up, blocking your view of the lady out at sea.

You size up her rather impressive bicep and decide that you probably wouldn’t be able to escape if you tried. “Mom’s down in the hold,” you grudgingly admit.

In fact, Mom is right there at the front of the crowd. She takes you as soon as the sailor hands you over. “Thank you so much,” she says to the sailor, then looks down at you. “Vriska, you know you’re not supposed to go up on deck!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, trying and failing to squirm out of her grip. The ship bounces hard and something cracks on deck. Rain drips from the ceiling and there’s a huge boom of thunder.

The ship ends up losing a mast in the storm, but it manages to limp into port with most of its crew and passengers still aboard. Mom, however, doesn’t make it.

* * *

The second time you sail through the Sea of Lyte, you’re a sailor yourself, an unranked nobody on a moderately successful cargo ship.

Well, nobody on the ship thinks anything of you, but you’re hardly a nobody. You have power tucked into the dice bag that you keep pressed up against your heart, and you have eyes on the captain’s position. You’ve spent the last few months getting on the first mate’s good side, and with luck she’ll favor you when a spot opens up at the captain's table.

You’re up in the rigging, adjusting the sails, when you notice dark clouds gathering, heavy with something more than just water. They’re already rimming half the horizon; you probably don’t have enough favor with the captain yet to get her to believe your story of the last time you were in this sea.

Well, in that case you’ll just have to weather the storm.

You stick to your job, but you get in place for furling the sail. Sure enough, a few minutes later, the first mate calls to get ready for a storm. The crew hasn’t had to practice this much before, so there’s a haphazard scramble before everyone sorts out what they’re doing.

However, this time you aren’t as lucky. The clouds close in unnaturally quickly and if you hadn’t gotten to the deck you probably would have fallen off the rigging like two unlucky saps.

The next few hours are cold and wet and exhausting. There’s a leak somewhere in the lower levels and you spend most of it sloshing buckets back and forth, trying to keep the ship from sinking.

Someone taps you out--you can’t see who in the dim lighting--and you stumble up onto deck. In a moment of clarity, you think, _The ship is going to sink._

Well, you’re sure as hell not going to die on a sinking ship. You have power, after all. It’s time to use it.

You withdraw one of your octets, unmarked pieces of blue fluorite that are full to brimming with luck. Ducking out of sight, you stand by the railing and whisper the right words into the stone before crumbling it in one hand and dropping it into the sea.

At first, nothing happens, and you’re afraid it didn’t work, but then the ship stops pitching quite so far, and the wind slows a little, and the rain stops entirely. A ragged cheer comes from the bucket brigade and you let yourself slump against the railing.

Thanks to your intervention, the ship manages to make it out intact and with most of its crew. You are, as always, a survivor.

* * *

The third time you sail through the Sea of Lyte, it is because you have no other options.

You’re older, less an eye and an arm, and you’re on the run from the law. A pirate like you has fewer and fewer places to go with the Imperial crackdown, and though you’ve avoided the Sea of Lyte like a plague since your last two incursions, now it’s your only chance to escape.

Sure enough, you see dark clouds cropping up as soon as you enter, and you’re experienced enough to know that odd taste on your tongue is _magic_. Powerful magic, too, for it to be able to cause storms that big.

You only have one octet left. You hope you won’t have to use it, but if it’s what it take to survive you’ll take it.

This time you are the one directing the chaos on deck as you prepare for the storm. This storm hits hard and viciously, tearing sails and lines and knocking three perfectly competent sailors overboard.

“Everyone, tie your lines to the main mast! I don’t want anybody else dying on my watch!” you shout, and tie a rope of your own around your waist and to the mast.

You know, deep in your bones, that if you let this storm run its course that you’ll be in no shape to evade the law--and that’s assuming that you make it out at all. There’s only one course of action left; you pull out your last remaining octet.

The words of power are on your lips when a voice like the abyss booms, “ **How _dare_ you try to subvert my power with foreign magics?** ”

You freeze like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Are you the one who caused this storm?” you ask the storm, tucking the octet away.

“ **Yes, trespasser.** ”

“Then you can stop it. What do you want?” you ask.

The voice chuckles, and it is a cruel laugh. “ **Why should I stop the storm?** ”

Well, if you’re dead anyway, you might as well try to bargain for some benefit. “I’m the one you want, not my crew! Take me instead.”

There is an ominous pause, but you think the storm calms slightly. “ **Very well, I accept your offer.** ”

Lightning-fast, a wave washes over the deck from behind you, pulling the rope holding you taut and cracking your head against the railing. Somehow the rope snaps and another wave tumbles you headlong into the sea, and dark waves close over you in something like an embrace.

* * *

Consciousness filters back slowly, like it’s the morning after you’ve been drinking too hard.

First things first, time to see what state you’re in before you try to move. Your head hurts and your breathing is oddly sluggish. Wherever you are, it’s dark and blurry, and your hands are tied above your head with something that feels sort of like lace. You give the lace a tug and it gives slightly and then stops after a few inches. You can’t move your hands any further, either. Ooookay, it’s been a fun night then.

Fun enough that you can’t remember any of it. The last thing you remember is--

Falling off your ship. _That_ sends a jolt of adrenaline through you and suddenly the blurry vision and thick breathing makes sense, you’re _underwater_ \--you thrash and find that your ankles are bound as well, and you’re going to _drown_ \--

“Oh, do stop squirming,” someone says, and suddenly there is light.

You’re blinded and breathing hard and what you want to do is bite your way out of your restraints and get _out_ , but no matter how hard you pull you can’t get your hands near enough to bite.

“I _said_ , stop squirming.” The voice is cracks like a whip and the lace around your hands pulls back so you can’t move them at all.

Your vision finally clears and you can see where you are in more detail. You’re in some sort of reef cave--you can see the coral outside--and it’s thick seaweed that’s holding you in place. You’re apparently breathing _water_ without drowning, although it is thicker and harder to breathe than air. And in front of you, luminous without any apparent light source, is the figure you saw so long ago in the storm in the Sea of Lyte.

She is slim and blonde, her hair waving delicately in the current, but instead of legs she has a handful of thick, inky purple tentacles. She is also entirely unclothed, which is more distracting than it should be.

“Who are you?” you spit, surprised when it comes out clear and ungarbled.

“I am the Caller of the Storm, the Watcher from the Deeps, the Sea-Witch of the Sea of Light. However, since humans make that too many syllables, you may call me Rose instead.” She has an air of smugness that’s rubbing you the wrong way and it makes you want to give her a good trouncing.

“Well, let me out then!”

“Oh no, that won’t do at all,” she says, infuriatingly calm. “You made a deal--the cessation of the storm for _you_. You are mine now, my dear Vriska.”

You’re pretty sure you never told her your name. “I thought you were going to kill me--I didn’t sign up to be your prisoner!”

“That’s an unfortunate misunderstanding. You really should be more specific when you make deals with storms.”

Your reply is cut off by one of her tentacles snaking around your neck, the tip covering your lips in a little ‘shh’ gesture. “I grow tired of your natter,” she says.

In response you just flip her off.

You see a flash of real anger in her eyes before she tightens the tentacle around your neck--not enough that you can’t breathe, but tight enough that it’s very uncomfortable. “You are _mine_ now, pirate, and I will not tolerate disobedience.”

Your last remaining octet presses against your heart. _Yeah, well, we'll_ _see about that._


End file.
